


Mara

by Wind_Ryder



Series: Tumblr Fics [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Gen, Horseback Riding, Manip, thieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1591250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Victor are both middle class/middle-upper class, and by default are involved in horses. They're out riding on weekend when they come across a group of horse thieves in the woods. They try to get away, but tragedy strikes instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mara

**Author's Note:**

> Initial Prompt: Sherlock and Victor are both middle class/middle-upper class, and by default, are involved in the country sports crowd. They go hunting one weekend and whilst Sherlock isn't massively keen on jumping hedges, Victor goes so Sherlock follows. Sherlock's horse trips and falls, breaking its leg and results in being shot/put down at the scene. Victor's never felt more guilty. Sherlock doesn't ride again.
> 
> ______________________________________
> 
> This series contains a stand alone stories that were prompted or otherwise posted on my tumblr page. They have not been beta'd and are just flights of fancy.
> 
> Feel free to let me know if you see any mistakes.

 

                                                                                  

Sherlock wasn’t keen on jumping. He could ride the flat just fine, had no trouble putting Mara into a canter, and was even willing to let her ride into a gallop, but as for _jumping_ …he would rather abstain. “She’s got a hind end on her that’s _made_ for jumping, Bee.” Victor told him time and again. “Look at her legs, her confirmation! She was _built_ to jump.”

 

“She’s a horse, she was built to eat grass and beg apples off bystanders.” Sherlock informed him, cinching Mara’s girth tight and adjusting the buckles on his saddle.

 

“She’s a _thoroughbred._ She’s all legs and power.” Victor complained. “And it’s not like you don’t know _how_ to jump I’ve seen you.”

 

“On a course that was inspected prior, yes, I’ll jump. Jumping in the woods…it’s dangerous.” Sherlock ran a hand down Mara’s neck and then have her a firm pat. Pulling her reins over her ears, he turned to walk her from their stable.

There was a mounting block not too far away from the trail they were getting ready to ride on, and Mara stood patiently while Sherlock adjusted his stirrups and then mounted her. Victor’s thoroughbred, Titan, was always a bit uppity when it came to being mounted, and eventually they realized if Sherlock had Mara stand by Titan’s side- Victor could get on relatively easily.

 

As soon as Victor slid into position, Titan fell straight in line, patiently waiting for instructions and acting impressively obedient. “Where to, Bee?” Victor asked as Sherlock directed Mara towards the trailhead.

 

“Up to the summit? There’s nothing else to do today.”

 

“Sounds fine by me.” Victor agreed as he clicked his tongue and urged Titan forwards. The gelding responded immediately, walking with an energetic stride that was more trot than walk. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he stroked his mare’s neck. She at least had the decency to walk when she was meant to walk, and trot when she was meant to trot. “Oi, he’s young yet. He’ll work it out.” Victor complained, carefully shifting his weight and pulling back on the reins to reel his horse in.

 

They’d been riding together since they first met. Sherlock had always had Mara, a beautiful dapple-grey mare with a sweet face, and (in Victor’s words) a great arse. Victor tended to cycle through his horses. He trained them for money, and bred them to enthusiastic men and women with deep pockets. Titan was only four, and he was getting ready to be sold. There were just a few kinks left to be adjusted.

 

As long as they’d known each other, Victor had never seen Sherlock ride another horse beside his beloved mare. She was an even-tempered darling of a horse with perfect manners and endless patience. She trusted her rider implicitly, and acted accordingly. Sherlock had let Victor ride her three or four times, but those moments were few and far between. Victor had enjoyed the experiences, but hadn’t felt compelled to push it further than that. Mara was Sherlock’s horse, and that was the end of it.

 

She wasn’t too old, at twelve she still had more than half her life ahead of her, and if Sherlock had his way- she’d make it well passed her expected thirty years. He’d raised her from a foal, and it was the only part of his life that he never cut any corners with. She had the best of everything, and likely would until the end of her days.

 

They rode in silence for a while, Mara leading the way without much instruction from Sherlock. He barely used any rein at all on her, and his legs were merely nudging her sides rather than actually applying any pressure. Titan liked to ride next to the mare, strutting as proudly as any stallion and receiving little to no attention in response.

 

“I don’t think Mara likes Titan that much.” Victor said once they passed the two-mile marker. Sherlock hummed in response, peering at the gelding in consideration.

 

“She has higher standards.” He confirmed.

 

“What do you think about breeding her this year? I’d love to see the foal she and Cyril would make.”

 

“She’s a little old for breeding.” Sherlock said evenly. “Besides, what would I do with another horse?”

 

“Sell it?”

 

“That’s your game, Victor, not mine. Any foal of Mara’s would stay mine.” Sherlock reminded him. They’d had this argument before. Victor never pushed too hard. About once a year he approached Sherlock with the idea, but was always turned down. It wasn’t anything new. Neither took much of the conversation to heart.

 

“Well, Mara might like having a little one around. You could show it.”

 

“Mara’s enough for me.” Sherlock shook his head. “You’ll have to find another brood-mare, Victor.”

 

Titan’s ears perked up and his head lifted. Both riders ignored him, though Victor gently corrected his confirmation. It wasn’t until Mara stopped completely that they realized the horses were being spooked by something. Off in the distance, a faint sound of voices started to carry through the trees, and even the smell of smoke.

 

“Camp?” Victor asked, looking to Sherlock in confusion.

 

“It’s private property. There shouldn’t be anyone up here.” Sherlock refuted.

 

“Poachers?” Victor asked. Sherlock pressed his lips together, and encouraged Mara to walk on.

 

They found the camp not too far off the trail. Three men and their horses were sitting about a small fire. They looked up when Victor and Sherlock arrived, “You’re trespassing.” Sherlock informed them succinctly.

 

“Well isn’t she a pretty ‘un?” One of the men said, standing up and walking towards Mara. She took a few steps backwards, almost planting her arse in Titan’s face. Victor steered his gelding around her and moved so they were side by side.

 

“You should leave, friends.” Victor told them calmly.

 

“We were just having a bite, we didn’t mean no harm.” Another one of the men stated, raising his hands placatingly.

 

“Where’s Lady Harrington?” Sherlock asked suddenly. The three men immediately turned to look at him, and Victor frowned at Sherlock in confusion. Rebecca Harrington owned the land just opposite the Holmes’ family estate. “That’s her brand.” Sherlock explained, pointing to the flank of the nearest horse. “She never lets her horses on the trail- she thinks it mucks them up. Why do you have-”

 

“Sherlock.” Victor cautioned, cutting his friend off. Sherlock’s eyes were blinking rapidly, mouth opening slightly in surprise as the realization hit him.

 

“You’re not poachers…you’re _thieves_.”

 

“Sherlock!” Victor hissed, even as the first man lunged forwards to jerk hard on Mara’s reins. The mare whinnied loud, rearing up and jerking her face out of the way. Sherlock never pulled on her bit like that, and she was _not happy_. Titan started to dance his front hooves as he looked at the chaos that was starting around them, and Victor cursed under his breath as he started to back him out of Mara and Sherlock’s way.

 

One of the thieves was charging for him next, and Victor struck at him soundly with his crop. Titan let out a great roar of dissatisfaction, and soon decided he’d had enough. Before Victor could start to focus on keeping the gelding calm, he’d bolted. _“Fuck!_ ”

 

“Victor-” Sherlock’s voice echoed after him, but Victor didn’t have time to pay attention to what was happening with his friend. Titan had taken it upon himself to get them to safety, and no amount of rein control or leg movements was slowing him down. The horse was _determined_ , and with the amount of trees and other obstacles around there was no safe way to stop him.

 

Victor hissed as a twigs and small branches started to smack into his body. He leaned forwards into the half seat position, keeping his head down as much as he dared to avoid the face shots. He’d only lost control of a horse twice before, and both times there had been other people around to assist and a way to dismount safely. As it stood now, Titan was taking him for a ride and the best he could manage was so wait it out and pray that Sherlock managed to find a way out of that mess without getting himself killed.

 

Minutes flew by before he heard the sound of rushing hooves behind him, and he lowered his right shoulder so he could look behind. Mara. Sherlock was still on the glorious creature's back as she soared through the trees. “There’s a clearing up ahead!” Sherlock shouted to him. No time to work out what had happened with the thieves and poor Lady Harrigton’s stolen horses. “Can you pull him round there?”

 

“Just need the space!” Victor confirmed as he ducked a particularly low branch that threatened to knock him clear off Titan’s back.

 

He could see the opening through the trees and let out a breath of relief as Titan threw himself into it. Sliding his hand down the rein as close to the bit as he could, Victor took hold and then _tugged_. One hand balanced him on the other side of Titan’s thick neck, but the other held firm. Titan’s face went directly to the left and soon he was running in tight circles, heaving great breaths until he realized he was going nowhere and _finally_ came to a stop.

 

Victor could feel his heart beating violently against his ribcage and he sat up to take a deep breath. Titan was jittery underneath him, and Victor kept his hands in position in case he needed to affect another short stop. Titan’s mouth must have been burning from the command, but Victor couldn’t think about that right now. He turned to Sherlock.

 

His friend was breathing just as hard as he was, and was looking over his shoulder into the woods they’d just galloped through. Victor followed his line of sight. “What happened?” He asked, swallowing great gulps of air as he turned his gaze back to his friend. There was a cut in Sherlock’s blazer and when Victor looked closer he could see blood.

 

“They tried to whip her.” Sherlock said, dumbfounded. “They tried to whip _Mara!_ ”

 

“She’s fine, yeah?” Victor asked looking at the good girl. She was breathing just as hard as they were, but she didn’t look any worse for wear. “She’ll be fine.” He nodded. “What about you? Are you okay?”

 

“We have to go to the police. Those aren’t freeze brands- they can be altered. Lady Harrington will-”

 

“Sherlock. Are _you_ okay?”

 

“I’m _fine!_ ” He wasn’t. He was shaking violently on top of Mara who was huffing nervously beneath him.

 

There was a loud bang behind them and horse and rider alike jumped at the noise. “Are they _shooting_ at us?” Victor asked as he looked back towards the woods in horror. He looked at Sherlock who was even more dumbfounded than before, and Victor grit his teeth. “Where’s the nearest house?”

 

“From here? Lyons, the Lyons estate.”

 

“Go. _Go_ Bee. You know the way, I’ll follow.” Sherlock nodded once curtly and then urged Mara on.

 

It wounded like thunder was chasing them at their heels. Mara and Titan were rushing as fast as they could, and the thieves were hot behind them. Guns were firing and bullets were smacking into the dirt in every direction. Mara was rushing forwards, carrying Sherlock like he was the King of England, determined to keep him from harm. Titan charged after her with far less grace, but with equal strength.

 

Hooves smacked into the dirt, dust rose into the air. With every fire of the gun, Victor instinctively ducked slightly. He wasn’t even sure if he was even breathing properly, and he could practically _hear_ his heart even with all of the noise around them.

 

There was a small rock wall ahead of them, no more than two feet high. Victor clenched his fingers around his reins and begged whoever was out there not to make this day already worse than it was. Mara ran up to it like she had been born to jump. Her feet planted, and her great back legs pushed her body upwards. Sherlock leaned like he’d done it his whole life.

 

It would have been flawless had there not been for the uneven ground on the other side. Mara’s left leg went one way, her right leg went another, her body weight caught up to her – and then they were falling. Sherlock flew off Mara’s back like he was falling in slow motion. He crashed against the earth in a heap and he tumbled violently across the earth.

 

Victor barely managed to pull Titan back in time from making the jump, and even then the rest was just instinct. He skidded Titan to a stop, and was off his gelding’s back within seconds. “Sherlock? Sherlock!”

 

Mara was making the worst sounds of pain Victor had ever heard, but Sherlock wasn’t moving. Scrambling over the wall, Victor rushed to his friend’s side. He reached out quickly, unsnapping the helmet Sherlock was wearing and carefully pulling it from his head. He could hear the riders behind them shouting in triumph.

 

Titan was being secured. They’d stopped shooting at the very least. Victor didn’t pay them any more mind than that. Instead, he cupped his friend’s face and whispered his name, scanning him for obvious injuries. Sherlock’s blue eyes blinked open in a daze and he stared owlishly up at Victor.

 

“What hurts? Can you move?” Victor asked, cutting him off before he could speak. It didn’t matter.

 

“Mara- _Mara!_ ”

 

“Sherlock, stop. Bee. I need you to-”

 

“Mara!” The mare was trying to get up, panicking when it didn’t work right. Victor turned to look at her and he felt his heart break in his chest. Her leg was broken. Bone was piercing out of her flesh, but the poor girl was too frightened to understand she couldn’t be standing. She kept trying, braying louder and louder as she failed. Blood splashed on the dirt, and Sherlock pushed on Victor’s arm. “Help her! Help _her_.”

 

“Bee-”

 

“Please. Please just help her!” Sherlock was deathly pale, going into shock. He shoved Victor again and again, though. He kept pushing until finally Victor made to stand.

 

“Don’t move!” Victor turned his head to look at one of the thieves. He was climbing over the wall and aiming a rifle at Victor’s chest.

 

“I need to check that horse, she’ll hurt herself worse-”

 

“Be quiet and stay still!” Another one of the thieves instructed, bring about his rifle now. Victor could feel Sherlock shaking as his friend’s body pressed against him. Mara was still crying loudly, making the break in her leg worse as she struggled.

 

“Please-please just let us help her. Please.” Sherlock’s face was wet with tears, he was trying to get up himself, but he must have broken something as well. He had the same amount of luck as Mara was having, and he fell back into the dirt with a strangled cry, curling around his arm and chest.

 

The final thief was approaching Mara now, reaching towards her with his ugly fingers and calming her like any horse master. Victor didn’t care right now who or what he was as long as he managed to get her to stop trying to stand. She needed a surgeon immediately if she was going to make it. Mara laid her head on the ground in defeat as the thief soothed her. Sherlock was gasping in pain as he watched everything. Neither Victor nor him moved.

 

“Not worth it.” The thief said suddenly. “Never get anything for her.”

 

“Kill her.” His partner informed him.

 

“NO!” Sherlock surged forwards; Victor did to. He threw himself at the nearest man and grappled with the rifle. The other one wasted no time in striking Victor violently in the ribs, and then once more across the face.

 

A single bullet fired off, and Mara’s crying was abruptly ceased.

 

“NO! No! You can-you can’t-” Sherlock tried to push himself back to his feet but was given the same treatment Victor was. He fell back into the dirt and coughed loudly, lungs seizing in his chest.

 

“Shut up. The pair of you. You know how much trouble you given us today?” The man asked sharply. “This was an easy job till you two decided to come out and play.”

 

“You’re dead. You’re so dead.” Victor hissed, reaching out to take hold of Sherlock in an effort to help him breathe.

 

“Make your threats later, boyo.” The man told them shortly. Then, to his partners he nodded his head. “Saddle and bridle might be worth something. Strip her.” Sherlock coughed harder, blood slipping from his lips as he tried to process what was happening. Victor pulled him closer, rubbing his friends arms ineffectually. He knew Sherlock was hurt badly in the fall, but there was nothing he could do to help him now. All he could do was help try to keep Sherlock warm and hope that it was making things better. “What are your names?”

 

“What’s it matter to you?” Victor spat as Sherlock coughed up another mouthful of blood. He kept Sherlock’s head pressed against his chest and firmly out of sight of Mara’s body.

 

“All sorts of high society types round here. Want to know if you’re worth something to us alive, particularly after all the trouble you’ve put us through.” Victor bit his lip, not sure how to reply. The man prepared his gun to fire, and aimed it straight at Sherlock’s head. “I don’t have all day, boyo.”

 

“Sherlock Holmes and Victor Trevor.” He replied, seething with each passing second.

 

“Holmes and Trevor…hmm…heard bout all them horses you turn out. You’re quite posh, aren’t ya?”

 

“Posh enough to earn a ransom, yes.” Victor spat out. “Sherlock’s brother works in the government.” The man nodded.

 

“Get up.” He motioned with his gun, and Victor had to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything vile in return.

 

“Can you stand?” He asked Sherlock softly. Sherlock didn’t reply. He was staring off somewhere in the middle distance, shaking and ignorant to everything around them. Victor grit his teeth and folded his legs under him. Then, squeezing tightly to Sherlock’s body, he hoisted them both up. Sherlock keened, making a pained sound that squealed from his lungs. He leaned heavily against Victor’s body, and his head cupped under Victor’s chin. He was _technically_ on his feet, but Victor was the one holding him up. This wasn’t going to last for long.

 

“They’re not worth it. Horses are one thing. Just got to send them to slaughter. These pair? Ransoms will never work. There’s no evidence. No one knows what happened here today. Just kill ‘em and be done with it.” The second thief insisted.

 

Victor clutched onto Sherlock’s body as their assailants considered their options. If they stayed here, they’d be either kidnapped or killed, and if they left – the same thing. They’d never get far enough on foot to make a difference if they tried to escape. Sherlock wouldn’t make it no matter what. He was coughing again, and more blood was staining his hand and Victor’s white shirt as they stood together.

 

“Fuck it all.” The ringleader of their enterprise lifted his gun and aimed it straight at the two riders.

 

“Drop it now!”  Everyone turned. Frank Lyons and his boys were there, and _all_ five of them had a shotgun or rifle aimed at the thieves. Victor had never been so glad to see anyone in his life. “You put those guns down this instant, you hear?” Frank shouted, taking a threatening step forwards. Surprisingly, the thieves did as they were told. “That you Victor Trevor?”

 

“Yes Mr. Lyons, and Sherlock Holmes.”

 

“Come on over here, lads.” The man insisted firmly, and Victor did exactly what he was told. He dragged Sherlock after him, whispering soft apologies as each step hurt _whatever_ had happened in that blasted fall. One of Frank’s boys lowered his gun and helped Victor assist his friend to safety. “I’ve called to cops, they’ll be here soon.” Lyons said while another one of the boys took hold of the thieves’ weapons. “I saw the whole thing from my window there.” He motioned towards his house that was just down the hill. They’d been so close to safety. “How’s Sherlock?”

 

“He needs a hospital.” Victor told him as he felt more and more of Sherlock’s body weight leaning on him for support.

 

“Ambulance should be here soon.” Frank said. “Get on down to the house. I’ve got these bastards.” Victor thanked him quietly, and started to guide Sherlock away.

 

“Not gonna again…” Sherlock mumbled later on, when he was being strapped down in the back of an ambulance.

 

“What’s that Bee?” Victor asked, leaning towards his friend to listen better.

 

“Ride…not gonna ride ‘gain…never ‘gain…not gonna…” Sherlock’s eyes fluttered as he passed out of consciousness, and Victor leaned back. As much as Sherlock loved riding, Victor didn’t doubt that he’d said the truth. Sherlock probably never would ride again, and the more Victor thought about it: the more he realized he didn’t feel like it either.  

**Author's Note:**

> Got a prompt you want filled? Want to just say hi? Let me know!
> 
> falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com


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